


First

by chimericalEscapist (Adasser)



Series: Self-Loathing Chronicles [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adasser/pseuds/chimericalEscapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You spend a lot of firsts on Eridan Ampora.  </p><p>*A prequel of sorts to I Never Thought I'd Miss Your Self-Loathing, but can be read alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First

**Author's Note:**

> The sadness is kinda undertones here, just a boy slowly falling in love really. Wanted some sweet to off-set the bitter (also considering making a real series of broken Eridan).

The first time you meet Eridan Ampora is almost a full month after you win Sburb.  He’s holed up in this place about a mile off the coast of a cold lake.  He’s as surprised to have a visitor as you are to see him like this, dressed simply in a cotton shirt and denim instead of the purple and gold ensemble.  You tell him people are wondering where he’s been and he talks like a knife.  It’s the first time you understand there’s a reason you’re the only person who was willing to go see him.

You’re standing outside his door, sizing up the shanty little dig when he rounds the corner.  Reeking of fish guts, he’s got a dirty towel on his shoulder and blood on his hands.  He looks completely lost when he sees you.  It’s a good look on him.

“The fuck are you doin’ here?”

“A certain troll got it into his mind that you’d been left alone for, and I quote, ‘longer than the writhing bonebulge I hope he chokes on,’ which is pretty much Karkat for, ‘I hope he’s okay.’  I took one for the team and headed out here.”

He goes from lost to a caged animal in less than a second.  You aren’t expecting it from the guy everyone calls pandering and hopeless, and it throws you off-guard.  You didn’t think he’d be intense, but the vicious snarl he sends your way makes your skin warm.

“Not that it’s any a anyone’s business, but I’m copin’, thank you v-very much, an’ I’d like it if boys w-who kept tryin’ to conv-vince ev-veryone they’re cool w-when they’re a fuckin’ mess w-would get off  my damn law-wn.”

It stings because it’s true, but you don’t flinch. 

He stands there looking like murder for a minute before he adds, voice soft in contrast to his face, “An’ tell Kar I’m done w-with ev-verythin’, so he can stop his w-with all the neuroses.”

You do, and Karkat only seems more worried.  You might be if Eridan didn’t look like he had enough life in him for everyone he’d ever met.

You argue all day.  You tell him you’re staying over.  He resists.  You insist.  No matter what he says, he doesn’t hate you enough to make you sleep outside in the cold.  By the end of the night, you’re curled up on an empty space of the floor in his living room, wondering where the hell all his furniture is.

It takes you a while to realise that lonesome people who don’t have visitors don’t need couches.

 

The first time you see him smile is a year later. 

You and he talk sometimes, after you go back home, but it’s mostly insults.  In a weird way, seeing his stupid purple text laced with some of the most hurtful things ever said to you makes you feel better; he never makes up anything, just says things no one else would dare.  You mostly make up things.

(He likes it when you tell him he’s delusional for thinking you’re friends.  It’s the biggest lie you tell him.)

You don’t think he’s hinting when he mentions off-handedly that he hasn’t seen anyone in the thirteen months you’ve all been free. 

You’re torn between telling him that everyone’s avoiding so much as thinking about him and that everyone’s been busy.  Both are true.  Neither of them would make him feel better.

Instead, you visit. 

You walk into his house like you own the place and he looks like he wants to be pissed, but it’s there, a small, grateful smile.

It’s the first time the two of you talk without undermining each other.  It just so happens that’s also the first time you consider kissing him.

 

(The next time you visit, there’s a couch in the place you sleep.)

 

It’s actually quite a bit longer until the first time you actually kiss him. 

You find out that beneath all that pompous, upper-class rage and superiority, he’s probably even worse than you in the self-esteem department. 

You’re on the couch that you’ve claimed as yours in the house he sometimes calls “ours,” tapping out a blog post while he’s on the phone.  (Actually, you’re tapping your fingers against the keyboard and watching him gesture.  He’s the most vivid when he doesn’t think anyone’s looking.)

He says something about seeing whomever he’s talking to—you think it was one of the trolls; you haven’t been paying much attention past the curl of his fingers around the phone—and a second later, you watch his face fall.  It doesn’t last long before he’s plastered a smile over the disappointment, but the damage is done. 

It’s been two years and you’re the only one who’s come to see him.

When Eridan hangs up, he just says he’s glad they’re talking to him again.

He settles next to you, and without precursor, you lean over and press your lips to his.  You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t his hands on your arms or his tongue in your mouth.  He kisses like he sings in the shower, slow and sweet even if a little off-key, and you kiss like you’ll die if he stops.

You try to kiss the loneliness out of his soul.

 

A month later, and you haven’t succeeded, but the house is now always “ours” and the couch is just decoration. 

It’s the first time you’ve ever felt at home.


End file.
